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It’s been a while. Studying for and then taking the GRE was more all consuming than I had anticipated. But, It’s finally over. I did live through it. Now that the application has been sent, it’s out of my hands. I hate waiting. I feel like I’ve been waiting a lot lately. Last week I spent a whole day waiting for the Gas Company. Today, I will be on jury duty… waiting for my turn to go home. I know, I know it’s my civic duty… but you know what I’m talking about when you got that summons in the mail.
Actually, the admissions essay really had me stumped for a while. The question was purposely vague. It turned out to be a good exercise. It’s actually 2 different questions that had to be double spaced and fit within 3 to 4 pages. Most writers write whole books about the subject. After much writing and deleting, I came up with a rough draft. Really rough. After sending it off to friends who are smarter and have much better grammer than I, we came up with something that sounded more like me and less like I was trying too hard. Thank you, editors!
Well, here it is:
Describe your development as a writer and as a person of faith:
“Hi, I’m Amie, the wedding coordinator here. Today’s your big day. Congratulations. I’m just going to clip this microphone on you. It goes up high, just under the knot of the tie like so.” I clip the microphone in place and quickly slip the rest of the microphones battery pack into the groom’s breast pocket. “We can hide the rest right in here. It is on, but muted. I am the only one with control of that button. This means you do not need to touch it, just forget it’s there. Please don’t touch it. Only the parts of the ceremony where you are expected to speak will be amplified for everyone to hear. I promise. I’ll be standing right here the entire time. As soon as it’s over and you walk back down the aisle, I’ll come take this off so that it won’t be in all the pictures. Ok? Any questions?” In two years as a wedding coordinator, I gave this speech to more than four hundred grooms. It sounds like I’m exaggerating. I’m not.
I find one of two things when sliding my hand inside a grooms’ breast pocket. Either it’s hot like a sauna and his heart is thumping like a rabbit or, it’s freezing inside and there is almost no movement at all, which leaves me wanting to check for a pulse while I’m in there.
After giving this speech to one groom in particular, on a hot July afternoon, his face went white. He was one of the cold grooms. As his groomsmen were toasting him with flasks and joking about his last few minutes of freedom he looked down at me and whispered, “This thing doesn’t record thoughts, does it?”
“Of course not. It amplifies them,” I shot back. Maybe it was the extreme heat or the intense stress to get this couple married on time, either way, I had temporarily lost my filter, my patience and this groom looked like he might lose his lunch.
“That was a joke. Obviously it wasn’t funny. Not funny at all. I’m sorry. Why don’t you have a seat,” I waved the minister over and checked my watch. “Would you sit with our groom for a minute while I get him some water? He looks like he might pass out.” I hurried toward the kitchen for a bottle of water and a minute to myself. I reached in the fridge, took a few deep breaths and grabbed the water for our faint groom. As I hesitated to leave the air conditioning for the heat of the lawn where the guests were taking their seats, I asked God a loaded question, “Every groom acts like his wedding is a big surprise, like he was tricked into doing this by a woman who needs this marriage more than him. Are you this nervous about me?”
My faith came at an early age. My mother became a Christian in the delivery room, waiting for me to be revived. We were both given life that day. My father followed suit a few months later and as a child of five, I prayed the sinners’ prayer from my bunk bed. Secretly, I’ve always associated salvation with the smell of clean sheets. As a wedding coordinator, the concept of the Church as the Bride of Christ was not lost on me. My problem was I hated weddings. After four hundred nervous grooms, my concept of God was considerably smaller than I’d care to admit.
A few minutes later, I took my place at the audio board, the ceremony began, the bride walked down the aisle and the guests stood up to watch. I kept my eyes on the groom. I watched his pale face flush pink as he realized that she was there for him alone. Somewhere in the middle of “The Wedding March,” I heard God’s voice rushing in like wind in the trees, “I am never nervous. I want this more than you can know. I always have.” If salvation smells like clean sheets, redemption sounds like the “Wedding March” and this is why I write.
I’ve been writing ever since I could wield a crayon. It’s how I make sense of my funny little world. Writing reminds me that the earth is round and I am on it, not the center of it. As a child, writing was my escape, a way of using big words when my own small voice didn’t feel like enough. As an adolescent, writing allowed me the space to ask those angry questions of God and search for His answers. Now, as an adult, writing is my way of recording the faithfulness of God and giving others the space and vocabulary to tell their own stories. The Bible tells us that our language has the power to give life or take it away. In either case, the ways we choose to express ourselves have the power to change the world. I plan on being a part of that change for a long time.
So, here I am. I climb up mountains. I run down sidewalks. I walk to work. I sit in traffic. I knit. I take pictures. I plan girls’ nights and art days. I cook, although cooking is used loosely, it’s more like inventing. I instigate the fun at church, at work, at home with friends. I email. I blog. I pray. I paint furniture. I sweep the floors. I lock my doors. I speak. I listen. I read. I write everything down. I make myself at home. I’m learning to love. I have issues. I am a work in progress. I continually try to do more than two things at once. Sometimes this is calamitous. Sometimes it’s genius. Always, it’s an adventure.
This adventure has not come without a fight. Balancing out what I understood to be God’s call on my life, my love of storytelling, with what the church recognized as ladylike behavior has been a dangerous and sometimes lonely road. Over the years, one thing has remained constant and clear, God’s love for his people is not an exaggeration. A few years back, I wrote down this prayer. I find myself returning to it again and again.
“Father, the business of living out my faith is a call to action, not to mention, a gift. And you are taken with this chase. You pursue me, hem me in and there is nothing in me dark enough that you aren’t already intimately acquainted with. Even when I fall on my face and learn my lessons the ‘Karate Kid’ way: I say, ‘Make me strong’ and you say, ‘Gee, my car needs waxing. Here’s how I like it, Wax on, wax off…’
Even when I stop sleeping and proceed to wonder why I’m so exhausted. Even when I ask too many questions and don’t listen to your answers. Even when I start thinking that you can’t possibly be right about me. Even when I expect the whole wide world from everyone, including myself, and nothing from you. Still you are unchanging. Still you are wooing me over miles and miles of unpaved roads and where it all leads, only you know. And yet, against all common sense, I’m still breathing and fully aware that even my breath is a gift from you. In you, I have been given everything I could possibly need. Like the Psalm says, ‘nothing is beyond you.’ Even me.”
I’m not exaggerating.
Something struck me about Obama’s inauguration speech… The part about people remembering us more for what we built than what we destroyed. I’m looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.
This afternoon, my Mom emailed this to me:
Lately I’ve been listening to Ingrid Michaelson’s latest, “Be OK”. She always comes off so sugary sweet but then she writes lines like these:
THE CHAIN:
“So glide away on soapy heels
and promise not to promise anymore
And if you come around again
I will take the chain from off the door.”
LADY IN SPAIN:
“I am a lady in Spain
I’ll sing a haunting refrain
I am a lady from mars
And I can unscrew the stars
I can be anything that I see.”
I’ve also recently discovered Jay Nash. I listened to him all the way to San Diego and back over Thanksgiving. Over the Rhine has a new Christmas cd out too. My favorite song: “We’re gonna pull through”
the moon, jupiter and saturn
I was reading the news yesterday at work and learned that last night that the moon, jupiter and saturn were going to be at their closest last night… It is rumored that the last time these planets were aligned like this, the wise men followed it to find the baby Jesus. I took this picture with my cell phone on my way home… Something the wise men probably couldn’t do.
I haven’t written in a while and can’t seem to think of anything interesting to say. Instead, I’ll quote things that I’ve been reading lately.
“And even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own dispair, against our will comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.” -Aeschylus
“Once more, we are in a period of uncertainty, of danger, in which not only our own safety but that of all mankind is threatened. Once more we need the qualities that inspired the development of the democratic way of life. We need imagination and integrity, courage and a high heart.” -Eleanor Roosevelt
“The greatest revolution of our generation is the discovery that human beings, by changing the inner attitudes of their minds, can change the outer aspects of their lives.” -William James
“The rewards of great courage, of being a pioneer, are proportionate to the risks we take.”
“This is the common theme in the lives of fearless women: Fear is much easier to overcome when the focus of our lives moves beyond ourselves to a cause we are passionate about.”
“”It’s not necessary to move to New York or Washington to lead. What all of us can do is begin to exercise leadership in our most immediate circles: our families, and our communities. Because change doesn’t just happen from the top down, and because leadership is increasingly rare at the top.”
-Arrianna Huffington from “On Becoming Fearless”
I like to wander through bookstores. I’m fascinated by the titles on the spines that hold all those words together. And the artwork compels me to pick up these books and test the weight of their words with my hands, smell the ink on paper and wonder why no one has read MY book yet. This is when I realize, I haven’t actually written one. I take a step back and survey all the shelves lined with neat rows of books and ask myself, “If all these people can do it, why can’t I?”
Surprisingly, this doesn’t make me reach for my trusty iBook. Instead, it makes me head for the exit. I step out into the bright blue day on Lake Avenue, leaving behind the quiet hum and cool smell of air conditioning. As I walk home, I am mentally listing all the things I could possibly write about and quickly crossing off things I know nothing about.
Thing I won’t be writing about:
Opera
Italy on 5 bucks a day
Teach your dog to read
Mitosis
Symbiosis
Pretty much any “osis”
Mating habits of migratory birds
RVing for fun or profit or both
Idiots guide to tax laws
Organic Chemistry
Nascar
Anything Car related
Quantum Physics
Organic Chemisty
Let’s face it: Basic Math
Baby Names
Everyone Poops
As you can imagine, the list of things I can talk about becomes pretty short rather quickly. I pick up the pace trying to out-stride the coming fear. When fear does catch up, and it always does, it reminds me that writers spend all day writing by themselves. This fear does not scream or yell; it’s so much more subtle and easy to listen to. It doesn’t even question my competence. It merely asks, “Are you sure this is what you want?”
It’s taking a lot of trips to the bookstore and just as many quick walks home empty handed to figure this out. All I’ve got is my own story. All anyone has is their own experience, their own story. This is the point. How else would we learn except from each other? I’m relieved to know that someone else has the math story because my own is so totally different.
As I browse the Non fiction sections, I’ve noticed a few things. Writers are consistently sharing the “secrets” of success, wealth, happiness, beauty… Or a certain number of steps to (fill in the blank)… weight loss, enlightenment, perfect children… the list is long. The Christian, Religious, Spirituality sections are like all the others; full of uncovered secrets and newly discovered steps. In case you haven’t noticed, a printed book on the shelf at the bookstore with the word “Secret” in the title is technically no longer a secret. It’s written in ink on public display.
Just so you know, the book with my name on it will not contain secrets or steps. Just a simple story. A story that only I can tell.
Here it is: there are basically 2 different ways of doing conflict. It’s the difference between disagreeing with a persons character or a persons style of accomplishing the goal. Style conflict is really healthy and works to get to the bottom of what we have in common and sheds light on the differences. Character conflict is petty, small and selfish. This is a waste of time especially when the future of this country is at stake. It seems the media makes everything a character assassination. It’s always life or death.
With this election it feels less like we are choosing a leader to guide our country into the future and more like we are being asked to choose which parent to live with after the divorce is final.
This must sound pretty “Polly Anna” but I find myself asking why we can’t start talking about real things and work on redressing the way we do this democratic process…
Redress was my google word of the day. It’s an action word meaning, “To relieve of anything unjust or oppressive.” If the media is talking about a culture war, how do we fight… what are we fighting for?
I remember, as a kid, watching my Dad get so fired up about presidential elections. As a Kid, I had no patience for the evening news or the morning paper… I’ll be honest, I still don’t. Thank you google news! I’m also thankful that he always read the paper and watched the news. I marveled at how much he knew about what was happening in the world and more than anything else, he had opinions about how to solve some of those dilemmas and issues. One election, in particular, I think I was 8. I remember asking him why he didn’t run for president. Although he appreciated my offer to vote for him as soon as I was old enough, he declined.
His reasoning was something I didn’t fully understand until recently. He said, “I would never run for President or public office. I would hate to live under all that scrutiny. Can you imagine never having a private moment, ever again?”
No. I could not imagine that. I still can’t. But it does leave me wondering, how many excellent leaders are out there flying under the radar and not taking the next step for fear of the havoc all the intense scrutiny, the public litany and the media circus would have on their families and communities.
If I were asked to take on a job in the public eye, (like in the case of Palin) even if it was a job I really wanted and felt called to do, I would blink. I would probably laugh or maybe cry, but I would most definitely blink. There is a sacrifice to living in public, more so than the occasional blogger. There is also a responsibility. My obligations affect the lives of the people around me but my life in the spotlight might also obligate the people in my life. Is it worth it? Depends on what I’m standing for… the responsibility at hand. Maybe the media is not taking enough responsibility.
In the end, the way we treat each other is always more important to me than the latest scandal that the opposing party has conveniently uncovered.
I always used to hear my parents talk about where they were when JFK was assasinated. It sort of makes feel old to tell the story of where I was when I watched with the rest of the world as those plans struck the twin towers.
So, here are some thoughts from my trip to New York about 2 years ago:
It started out so simple. I stood on the Observation Deck of the Empire State Building and looked out at the wide world beyond, the city lights and I felt overwhelmed. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. This world we live in is a beautiful place. Something inside me never believed I would live long enough to see such a place for myself. In my mind, New York only existed in the movies. I began to wonder, “Who told me I couldn’t do this? Who told me I couldn’t or shouldn’t enact change in my own life?” The wind just whistled but did not offer any answers.
I stood at the feet of the Statue of Liberty and wondered how many people have stood in this very same place. How many humans have made the dark and dangerous journey into this new world? I feel grateful to be standing here because someone long ago cared enough to take a risk. How many people told them that they couldn’t do it, take a risk with their own lives? I like to believe that I could hear them on the wind, humming doxologies in the darkness.
I stood at the footprint of the buildings that used to be the World Trade Center Towers. This vast cavernous hole in the ground with life teaming all around. Thank you notes, flags, the names of the victims spilling out everywhere and yet life goes on. There are still deadlines to meet and taxi’s to catch and ringing phones demanding an answer. I wonder if the families of the fallen have recovered just as seamlessly. Are there nights, weeks, months, that leave them wondering how they could ever do this, recover from such devastating changes? Do they still hear the music of their loved ones? I hope so.
From the world Trade Center foot print
